Lucky Pair
by Fairady
Summary: Drabble series.
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: AU, incestish.

Disclaimer: I do not own, and it is better that way.

Notes: Based on a comment_fic request. The twins on Utah beach. I almost didn't write it because I got too sucked up in research, and then I wanted to add more to it than a single comment would hold.

Lucky Pair  
by Fairady

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"Your stupid arse can't even duck without being told to," Connor mocks as the ramp drops and the first row wades into the water.

Donnel sinks in almost to his shoulders and does a funny looking dog-paddle until his feet hit ground he can reach. Murphy's not much taller than him, but he'd never ask for help. Connor pulls out another cravat and starts to tie it around the compress covering Murphy's forehead.

"Fuck off!" Murphy wipes away a trickle of blood that escapes. He's had worse cuts getting into brawls at a pub. It's the first wound of the war for either of them though, and he damn well knows that Connor'll never let him live it down. "You can't duck artillery, asshole!"

"Oh really?" Connor pulls the tail ends tight, ignoring his brother's hiss of pain, and tucks them in. With luck it'll be enough to hold until they reach the beach. "Then tell me why I'm not the one wearin' bandages, dumbass."

"You'd have had a matching set if you'd been sittin' where ya were supposed to!"

The last row is marching out, the walking wounded struggling through the sea. Connor pulls Murphy up and sling one arm over his own shoulders. "Mackie was runnin' his mouth about the game last night. You know I couldn't have left it."

"He still bitching about losing?" Murphy only stumbles once, but doesn't try to make it out on his own. The world is swimming a little and he isn't quite sure it's just the sea doing it to him. "What a pussy."

"Yeah," Connor clenches his teeth as they step off into the sea. The water is cooler than he'd like and the beach is still covered in smoke. The German defenses are just a ways up there.

"Think he's jealous we got good luck?" Murphy doesn't think about what's on the beach. He'd rather deal with it when they get there. Connor's the one who always worries about shit like that, and it's not good to be dwelling on that stuff now. Using the hand around Connor's neck he turns his brother's face and plants one on him. Quick and hard, the ducks already pulling to get another group. "Or that we make our own?"

"Both," Connor smiles and focuses back to what they need to do. Follow the rest of the platoon up and get a medic. "Gotta be both."

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own or make money off of these characters. And I'm ok with that.

Warnings: Incest. Drabble.

Notes: Drabble written for a comment fic request. So, it goes here instead of me having to make another entry for a few hundred words.

Closer  
by Fairady

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There's something twisted in this. Some undefinable thing that goes past the fact that they're criminals, past the fact that they're .

Connor rolls them so that he's on top, using his weight to pin Murphy's hands as they kiss sloppily. Tongues tangling as they pant and grind against each other. Murphy's pants are undone and the outline of his cock is clear against the faded fabric of his boxers.

It's something about what they _are_ -to the world, to him- that makes this seem so obscene to Paul. They're the Saints. The living embodiment of the Justice that Paul's looked for his whole life, and they're on his bed rutting and panting like common humans.

Connor breaks the kiss and hold, working instead on getting them both out of the rest of their clothes. Murphy easily wriggles out from under him and, as soon as they're both naked, pushes him down. Straddles his brother's waist and lines their hard cocks up just right before thrusting. Connor arches his back and moans for it.

Paul bites his lip to keep quiet, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants tightly enough to keep them from wandering. There's something wrong in watching this, but it would be even worse if he joined in before he was invited.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own The Boondock Saints or the charachters or make money off of this. A fact many are thankful for.

Warnings: Incest.

Notes: Comment fic prompt of five times he said it was wrong and one time he didn't.

No  
by Fairady

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They're fifteen and have long discovered the interesting chemistry between their hand and dick. They're in a field, far from prying eyes, and having one off together when Murphy's other hand finds it's way to Connor's thigh.

Connor stops as an immediate surge of _want_ seizes him. He wants nothing more in that moment than for Murphy to drag his hand a little higher. But he can't. _They can't_.

"No," Connor forces the word from his closed up throat as he gently pushes Murphy's hand away.

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They're both drunk and staggering home. Using eachother as crutches to keep from falling flat on their faces. Murphy is a hot weight all down Connor's left side. He's laughing at something, his breath hits Connor's ear making him shiver.

Murphy, of course, feels it and the hand around his middle tightens. Connor can feel each individual finger digging into his side, "Connor-"

"No," Connor quickly cuts in. As sternly as he can make himself while still being three different kinds of fucked up. Murphy, mercifully, drops it.

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Connor's dreams are filled with sweat and moans. Of a hard body as familiar as his own under him, over him, around him, _in _him. He wrenches himself awake and gasps at the darkness around him. Willing his heart to stop pounding and his cock to soften.

He feels Murphy's stare before he hears his brother's own echoing gasps. Connor ignores it, refuses to look over at a sight he knows will test him beyond breaking, "No."

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Connor sighs as his quick lay passes out at the bar before they even have time to exchange names.

"I always wanted to do twins," her friend says, breathless from kissing Murphy. She glances between the two of them flirtatiously her intentions clear.

Murphy turns to his brother, eyes expectant and lips turned up in a grin that matches the woman's. And for a moment Connor thinks about it. Thinks about how it wouldn't really be wrong. Not if there was a woman between them. His stomach clenches at the thought. A mixture of desire and disgust.

"No," Connor says and backs away from the bar. Returning to the table they'd been at before. Murphy follows a few seconds later, alone.

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It's hot as hell and they're both down to their skin. Laying out on the concrete floor of the building they call home, trying to absorb as much of it's coolness as they can. Despite the heat Connor finds himself staring. Murphy is spread eagle, eyes closed as beads of sweat roll off his face and chest.

Murphy lets his head fall to the side and Connor can see the question through his half-opened eyes.

"No," Connor answers and forces himself to close his eyes. To concentrate on the oppressive heat from outside and not the one that builds in him.

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Murphy's laughing. Wincing at each sharp turn that sends them both tumbling in the back of the van Romeo's driving. He coughs up more blood and Connor finally wedges himself into a corner. Dragging his brother with him, pressing as firmly as he dares on the bleeding hole in Murphy's chest. He can feel each breath his brother takes. Feel the way his lungs struggle and rattle. He wills Romeo to drive faster. Get them out of the line of fire so he can properly look at Murphy. But there's no slowing and the sirens are as loud as ever.

There's just no guarantee.

Connor grabs Murphy's chin and tilts his head back just enough. Until he can feel each struggling breath against his lips, and Murphy's whispering, "Connor."

"Yes," Connor answers and then kisses his brother. Light and quick, but filled with a promise he doesn't need to speak of.

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own The Boondock Saints or the characters or make money off of this. A fact many are thankful for.

Warnings: Incest.

Notes: Comment fic prompt about one dream they did not share.

To Dream  
by Fairady

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_He runs his tongue up a tense neck, listening to the breathy moans that action drags out. His hands run down the lean chest below him. Anchoring at bony hips and urging them to move a little more. Heat surrounds him, driving him mad. Making him move faster and harder just to hear those moans grow louder. To hear his own name screamed, "Connor!"_

Connor wakes with a jolt. Coming up off the thin mattress he sleeps on with a gasp. Reality and the chill air of the room crash into him like a fist to the gut, and he spends several seconds shuddering and trying to remember how to breath. He swallowed, dry throat clicking as he remembered the searing heat of his dream.

A glance shows him Murphy's still asleep. Undisturbed by his brother's waking. Dreaming his own dream that obviously wasn't the same one Connor had woken from. Connor is thankful for that even as a part of him, quickly crushed, wishes otherwise.

It's wrong.

Connor knows it. It's wrong to dream of his own flesh and blood the way he does, the way he has since they were old enough to figure out what to do with a hard dick. It's wrong to wish his brother shared those dreams with him, and wake with the same images still haunting him.

He forces himself to lay back down. Twitching the covers aside to let the cold air chill his overheated body. It does him little good. He can still taste the salt of sweaty skin and feel the smooth glide of muscles under smooth skin. His name, moaned and broken, echoes in his ears and chases him back to uneasy sleep.

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Sex.

Notes: Tumblr request.

Dreams  
by Fairady

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Often as not, when one of them dreams, they both dream. It's just another of the many things they've grown up sharing.

Rarely, but not rarely enough, Connor wakes himself up in the middle of the night. Covered in cold sweat and feeling sick. He tumbles out of his bed making enough noise to wake the dead, but Murphy sleeps on in his own bed. Oblivious to Connor's gasping breaths, and the wide eyes that seek him out. The trembling fingers that reach for and find his slow pulse.

Murphy sleeps on wrapped up in his own dreams as Connor uses his heartbeat to chase away the images from the nightmare. The sight of one of a dozen guns pressed against his brother's head or back. The _look_ on Murphy's face as he was dragged _away _from Connor. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Connor realized there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

Minutes pass by as his fingers lose their shake and his breath evens out. His mind reengages and reminds him that there was somehting he could do. There was something he did do, and that's why Murphy's still alive.

It doesn't do much to quell the sick feeling of remembered helplessness, but it eases him enough to go back to sleep.

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End file.
